


A Dragon in Winter

by Dreamfyre26



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-01 05:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18329963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamfyre26/pseuds/Dreamfyre26
Summary: After heated quarrel with his father, Prince Rhaegar embarks on a travel to the distant North. AU-Story





	1. The Dornish Princess

**Rhaegar**

Rhaegar ought to be pleased about his bride. Elia Martell was tall beauty with raven hair and painted lips. Her kind smile should have enticed him even more, but when he looked at her he could only see the what the Dornish Princess had purposely omitted.

Rhaegar knew his mother had meant well and this match would certainly fulfil the requirement the King had laid out when he had tasked his mother to find him a proper bride and his father's fear that Dorne might turn against him one of these days would also be quelled.

Not that Rhaegar shared his father’s paranoia in this matter, but then he was not the King. His opinion hardly counted in the grand scheme of things. For a time, Rhaegar that he would wed Cersei Lannister, Lord Tywin Lannister’s, but nothing had come of it, because the proud Lion had overstepped his bounds by suggesting the match himself as if the Hand of the King had any right to decide such matters without the King’s approval.

Rhaegar didn't know why Lord Tywin had believed the King would would agree to the match, but it wouldn't be the first time the proud Lion had been blinded by his pride.

And Lord Tywin had reasons to be proud. Lord Tywin’s abilities as Hand of the King had given the realm an era of prosperity. Most lords of Westeros either loved or respected him, though the smallfolk had paid a hefty price. Lord Tywin hadn’t hesitated to repeal all the laws, rights and protections that had been granted to the smallfolk by Rhaegar’s grand-grandfather Aegon V while the King had lost himself to one foolish idea after another. Upon his coronation his father had boasted that he would soon invade the Stepstones and some time later he had hatched a plan to build a new Wall hundreds of miles of the current one. After complaining about the stink of King’s Landing the King had dreamed to build a city of white marble on the south bank of the Blackwater. Then, after a silly dispute with the Iron Bank the King had even claimed that he would build a war fleet to bring the Titan of Braavos to his knees. One idea had been madder than the next and should have been a warning sign to his advisors, but back then nobody had noticed the King’s lack of abilities, because he had still been surrounded by loyal friends to keep him in rein. There had been Lord Steffon Baratheon and to a certain extend even Lord Tywin. Sadly, Lord Baratheon had perished in a tragic shipwreck and Lord Tywin had long lost favor with his King. The cause had been a woman of great beauty, the late Lady Joanna Lannister. Rhaegar scarcely recalled her, but what he had heard about her from his mother had painted her as a charming woman of great intelligence, though Rhaegar had also noticed the hint of resentment in his mother’s voice when she spoke of her former lady-in-waiting.

The match with the Dornish Princess had been another one of his father’s sudden ideas, though it had been his mother who had arranged the match. And why should she not? Princess Myra Martell had been a dear friend to his mother and Rhaegar would have been pleased to fulfill his mother's wish, but taking in the Princess' fragile body he couldn't help but to be hesitant.

Slowly, he lifted his head to regard her slender arms and hip. He could see her bones peeking through the the swathes of a silk trying to conceal her body from prying looks.

Rhaegar was no Maester, but his own mother had suffered numerous complications during childbirth and had lost more babes than she could count. His mother had defied death numerous times, but looking at Princess Elia he couldn’t help but to wince when he thought of putting this fragile woman through the same process.

He felt disgust by the thoughts whirling up inside his mind. Princess Elia was no broodmare, though most lords would tell him that bearing babes was the most important duty of every lady.

And while Rhaegar desired heirs of his own, he wasn’t sure if killing his wife was worth such a price.

"You are gloomy today, your grace," Princess Elia's soft voice called him back from the present.

His cheeks burned with embarrassment as his gaze sought hers over the white-washed table, decked with all kinds of Dornish delicacies. Oranges from Yronwood, hot peppers from Hellholt and the infamous Dornish red, a sour brew that never failed to make Rhaegar wince.

"Forgive me," he replied and swept his gaze over the sea spreading in the east. It was a never-ending blanket of blue and green colors, glittering in the sunlight like emeralds. The sun was dying and had long painted the sky in hues of pink and violet. The sight made him melancholic, but the Dornish Princess desired a smile, so much he could see.

Thus, he feigned a smile and shifted his attention back to his bride-to-be.

"Your mother's lands are beautiful," he replied for a lack of a better answer. Rhaegar had though little of women until his father had brought up the topic of marriage. He had yet to learn how to speak to them.

Surprisingly, the Princess chuckled.

"That is the third time you said that, your grace."

Rhaegar felt as if a cold bucket of water had been poured over his head.

_I am such a fool._

"Well, I am only stating the truth. Your mother's lands are beautiful."

The Princess nodded her head and leaned back in her cushioned chair, a smile curling on her red lips.

"Yet that is not the reason you came here. You came here to meet me...before our marriage."

"I insisted upon it," Rhaegar corrected her. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she replied, but her voice was laced with discomfort. She seemed insecure and smoothed her hand over her silken skirt. "We were just surprised by your sudden arrival."

"Why?" Rhaegar asked, wanting to know why it was so surprising that he wanted to meet his bride.

The Princess averted his gaze, her dark eyes darting back to the sea, before flickering back to him.

"No particular reason," she replied with a smile and tried to overplay the obvious writing on the wall.  _Because then I wouldn't have seen the truth_ , he wanted to say, but refrained from doing so. The Princess was not at fault for her fragile health, but Rhaegar felt dislike for Princess Elia’s mother.

It made him wonder if Princess Myra was even aware of the King's descent into madness. Was she so blinded by her ambitions that she would send her sickly daughter into the dragon's lair?

"I see," Rhaegar said, an uncomfortable silence spreading between them that was eventually broken by Princess Elia’s soft-spoken voice.

"I heard you are a magnificent jouster," she remarked. "Is it true?"

Rhaegar couldn't help but to frown. He had never won a single tourney and yet people were spreading such tales about him.

"My jousting abilities are merely passable," Rhaegar replied. "I have yet to win a tourney."

"Oh," Princess Elia replied and fiddled with the hem of her dress. "But you are so very young. My brother Oberyn is a good rider, but he hasn't won that many tourneys either. I am sure you will win the next tourney, your grace."

"Perhaps," Rhaegar agreed and pulled on the collar of his tunic. The heat was less pressing now that dusk was drawing, but he felt the sudden urge to take a bath in the Summer Sea. "But I usually don’t compete in competitions unless the King commands me to do so. My interest lies elsewhere...I might only be a passable jouster and an average swordman, but even the minstrels at court admired my harp play. This was my true passion.”

If Princess Elia was surprised by his answer it didn't in her bearing.

Then, she smiled and folded her hands in her lap.

"So I heard. I would be pleased to hear you play, your grace."

"I shall," Rhaegar promised. "On the morrow. I think it should be a fine farewell gift."

Princess Elia's smile faded instantly, but she overplayed her disappointment well.

"I wasn't aware you would leave so soon."

Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders and searched her gaze.

"There is an urgent travel I must undertake," he explained vaguely. "But first I need to return to King's Landing."

"Travel?" Princess Elia asked in surprise and her dark eyebrows rose to the top of her head. "May I know where you plan to travel?"

"The North," Rhaegar replied. "I heard the Nights Watch's state is growing worse by every passing year. They lack recruits and resources. I intend to inspect the Wall and report my findings to the King in hopes he might do something about the matter."

"I see," the Princess said and took a sip from her cup. "Well, that sounds interesting. We in Dorne do not concern ourselves much with the needs of the Night's Watch."

"Understandable," Rhaegar assured her and picked a grape from his plate, chewing slowly. "Most at court think the Night’s Watch is a waste of coin and resources, but that I doubt these high lords would think the same way if the Wildings crossed the Wall and pillaged their lands."

"I suppose," Princess Elia agreed hesitatingly. "But it is good of you to bring this matter to the King's attention. It shows that you care. It shows that you will be a good King."

Her comment made him laugh.

"My father was once a promising King, but now he spends his idle time burning pick pockets and poachers. Who knows...Mayhaps I have inherited more of his blood than you can know."

Rhaegar regretted his words when he saw the fear flickering in her eyes, though frightening her had been his intention.

_This marriage cannot take place_ , he knew and hoped that his words would bear fruit. _It is better that way._

"Surely, you are joking?" Princess Elia asked in disbelief. "Our King would never do such things, would he?

Rhaegar stared at her in equal disbelief. She must be lying. Her Uncle Prince Lewyn served in the Kingsguard. Surely, he had reported the Kings' bouts of madness to Princess Elia's mother?"

"He is doing such things," Rhaegar gave her the truth. "The Defiance of Duskendale stole his sanity. I do not know what your mother Princess Myra has told you about me or the King, but if you are to marry into our house you ought to know the full truth of the King’s madness. He is a cruel man through and through. He violates my mother to keep me in control and he uses my brother Viserys' existence as a threat against me. Being married to me is no fairy tale life and the King agreed to this match for one purpose only...to beget heirs of Valyrian blood. He doesn't care about you or me. He only cares about his legacy."

Princess Elia had listened in silence and her dark eyes had grown wider the more words had spilled from his lips.

The silence seemed to spread endlessly and when it became almost unbearable Rhaegar searched her face and spoke.

"Do you understand?"

Finally, Princess Elia was roused from her stupor and lifted her head to meet his gaze.

"It matters not," she said at last, her dark eyes full of fear. " _Unbent, Unbowed and Unbroken_. I am a Princess of Dorne and I shall not shun my duty. I shall bear you heirs and be a good wife to you. I shall not disappoint my mother."

"And I shall not disappoint my King," he lied and dropped his head in defeat.

He admired her almost for her stubborn spirit, but Rhaegar decided would not inflict another burden on himself. He already had his poor mother to think about.

His plans for rebellion were slowly taking form, but the Dornish spears wouldn't be enough by a far margin and given the recent rumors from the North it was of an even greater importance for him to travel there. Marriages and betrothals could wait.

"It gladdens my heart to hear your resolve," Princess Elia added, a faint smile returning to her crimson lips.

Rhaegar nodded his head and knelt down to place a kiss on her hand.

_And it pains my heart that I must shame you by revealing the truth._

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in 279 AC.


	2. Welcome to Hell

**Rhaella**

Rhaella watched as the courtiers streamed out of the throne room, their whispering voices echoing through the long hall and crawling up the high pillars holding the heavy ceiling of the Red Keep. Now only Rhaella, her husband King Aerys, her beloved son Rhaegar and the Kingsguard remained. They stood guard beneath the steps leading up the monstrosity that was the Iron throne, their faces chipped from stone. Only Ser Arthur Dayne's face betrayed a hint of emotion, but that was no surprise. The King’s interactions with his eldest son and heir had been nothing but strained since the King had been freed from the hands of his betrayers at Duskendale.

Only once the last courtier had left the throne room the King leaned forward, his long white beard brushing over his boots. The way he sat on the throne was a far cry from the way previous Kings had occupied the seat of the Conqueror. His fingers twitched as if he was seated on a cushion of needles.

"What news to you bring from Dorne, my boy?" the King demanded to know, his voice unnaturally high and strained. "Did you inspect the Dornish bitch? Do you like the bride I chose for you?"

"I did," Rhaegar confirmed, his body incredibly tense as he rose back to his feet. "But I mislike the match. Princess Elia is a good and kind woman, but she is of a fragile disposition. I do not wish to burden the Princess with the task of bearing a future heir to your dynasty."

Rhaella felt as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over her head. She blinked once and twice, realizing what her son had just said.

_You silly boy_ , she thought and clutched her chest in fear as she searched her son’s gaze. She had no doubt that Rhaegar had meant well when he had revealed the Princess' fragile disposition, but what he didn’t know was that the King had been aware of this fact and had accepted the match. The official reason the King had given for his decision was the Princess’ dragonblood, though the real reason was much simpler. The King wanted to humiliate Lord Tywin Lannister.

Yet Rhaella had never expected that her son would travel to Dorne to meet his bride before the wedding. Now she realized that her deception had been a grave mistake.

_I shouldn't have listened to Myra. It was wrong to deceive my boy._

"What did you say?" the King asked in disbelief. "Do you think I care about the Dornish bitch’s health? All she is good for is to pup children of dragonblood. If the Dornish bitch wants a crown she has to bleed for it as have others done before her."

Rhealla shook as she beheld the change in Rhaegar's bearing. He seldom showed anger. Most of the time he was guarded and at rare times he smiled, but now his façade was beginning to crumble.

"Bleed for the crown," Rhaegar repeated, his voice brimming anger. "Like you made mother bleed? How many babes did she lose? I have lost count, but I say this. I shall not suffer the same fate as you, father. I demand another bride. There are other women with dragonblood available. Lord Lucerys Velaryon has a sister. He has served you loyally, your grace. Why not reward him with a marriage? It wouldn't the first time a Lady from House Velaryon would wed into House Targaryen. King Aenys Targaryen did it. Why can't it be done again?”

"King Aenys was a weakling and a fool," the King snarled and tightened his grip on the handle of his chair. His face was a grimace of anger, his cheeks deeply flushed. His bared yellow teeth reminded her of the sharp fangs of the dragon skulls gracing the walls. "Are you comparing him to me?"

Rhaegar chuckled bitterly.

"No, I would never presume to compare him to you, your grace. I do not even deny King Aenys' failures, but his match to  Queen Alyssa also brought forth a King that had brought unknown prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms. Or can you deny the greatness of Conciliator? When you rose to the throne you proclaimed that you wish to aim for such greatness as he possessed. This is your chance. Show the realm what a great King you truly are."

Rhaella was more than surprised that the King had even listened, but then Lord Velaryon was a loyal friend of his.

"There is only one flaw in your scheme, my foolish boy," the King replied. "The Lady Velaryon has been wed before and has borne no children from her first marriage. How is she any better than the Dornish bitch?"

"The marriage lasted only a moon," Rhaella added in a trembling voice. She had been silent too long and was prepared to face the wrath of the dragon if it meant to help her boy out this mess. "It took me three moons to conceive your heir, your grace. I do not see how one moon can be any indication of Lady Velaryon’s fertility. It is not perfect, but Lady Velaryon has more dragonblood than Princess Elia. I think you should...," she continued to speak even when the King’s feverish gaze met hers.

"Be silent! I have not asked for your council, woman! Do you want to wake the dragon?"

Rhaella fell silent when she heard this. Her limps were still raw from the last time she had woke the dragon. It had been barely a moon ago when her moonblood had returned. The King had been most displeased with her failure and had forced her to watch as he had burned one of her servant girls, though that had been nothing compared to the last time...

"No," she feigned meekness. It was the only way to appease him, to avoid punishment. "Forgive my silly words."

"Good that you know your place, woman," the King snarled and shifted his attention back to their son. "And there is another reason I cannot agree to such a match, my foolish boy," the King declared, his voice changing to a soft tone. Some of the fresh  courtiers would often mistake this for a good sign, but Rhaella knew better. In truth, it meant that the King was very displeased. "When my Hand offered his whelp to be your bride I told him that a dragon does not breed with a servant. Lord Velaryon is by far a better man than Tywin, but he is still a servant. That is why you will wed the Dornish bitch and plough her field until she is with child. And if she dies...Well, she should feel honored birthing a child of dragonblood."

If Rhaegar had been surprised by the King’s answer it didn't show on his face.

His face was frozen, his mouth a thin pale line. He looked defeated, but the stubborn glint in Rhaegar’s eyes promised defiance.

Rhaegar had dared to do it before. This terrible incident had taken place after the King had returned from captivity and the first time her husband had taken her violently. When Rhaegar had laid eyes on the blue bruises on her back he had lost all reason and had done the unforgivable. He had dared to strike his King and for this act he had been confided into the Black Cells without food or water. At times, Rhaella had feared the King would execute him, but the little bit of reason that had remained inside him had prevailed over his lust for revenge. Eventually, the King had allowed his son to return to his duties, but since this day the King had eyed his own son with distrust.

"I shall not wed the Dornish Princess," Rhaegar declared without much bravado. "And that is my last word in this matter, your grace."

Rhaella could barely breath when she saw the horrible anger taking hold of her husband's features.   _You silly boy_ , she whispered to herself and shook with fear, tears burning in her eyes.  _What are you doing?_

"You dare to _defy_ your King!" the King snarled and for the blink of a moment she feared he might turn into a mighty dragon and devour their son skin and bones. "I will show you what it means to defy your King, my foolish boy. Ser Oswell and Prince Lewyn take hold of him. Ser Gerold, you will dish out the King's justice."

Rhaegar remained stoic as ever. It was not the first time Rhaegar had endured the King's justice and it seemed he had prepared himself.

He didn't even struggle when Ser Oswell and Ser Lewyn took hold of his arms.

He even smiled at Ser Gerold.

"Do what you must do, Ser Gerold. I hold no grudge against you for doing your duty."

Ser Gerold didn't reply. He gave a silent not and dealt her son the first blow to the cheek. A good dozen more followed and by the time he was done, Rhaegar's face was red and purple, his lips split and blood spilling from his nose.

Yet she could see that her son had not given the King the satisfaction he had longed for. Rhaegar had neither wept or pleaded for mercy.

"I shall not wed the Dornish Princess," Rhaegar repeated and freed himself from Prince Lewyn's grip.

Much worse was that Rhaegar laughed at the King. For a moment she thought he had gone mad.

"Torture me until I am no more, I shall not budge in this matter," he declared boldly and spread his arms wide. Then, he laughed again. "I am waiting, your grace!"

"I could take your head, foolish boy!" the King threatened, though it had become an empty threat by now. He had uttered these words a good hundred times, but had never done the unforgivable. The King might be mad, but there was something that protected Rhaegar from such a fate. Viserys' youth protected Rhaegar. "I could take your head and feed it to the crows!"

"A kind fate," Rhaegar taunted. "But I know you won't do it. Viserys is a babe. He could still die and then you would have none of your blood to continue your dynasty, but our dear cousin Lord Baratheon. Your pride wouldn't allow that a Baratheon takes the crown of the Conqueror."

"You have me there, my silly boy," the King admitted, his voice unnaturally high as he cocked his head to the side to meet her gaze. "I shall not kill you...for now. I have still need of you...that is until Viserys is old enough. Yet you have denied your King the pleasure he deserves. I shall take my right here in front of your eyes. Watch and see, my foolish boy," the added and rose to his feet, making his way down the steps, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Rhaella...come here."

Rhaella froze and felt the urge to back away, but she knew that would only make it worse.

Instead she searched her son’s face, pleading with him to see reason, to accept the King’s command and be done with it.

“What are you waiting for?” the King asked in a threatening tone and grabbed her shoulder, his sharp fingernails brushing over her skin. “Pull up your dress.”

Rhaella sucked in a deep breath and was about to follow the King’s command when her son’s voice saved her.

“Leave her,” her son said, his voice suddenly weak and distant to hear ears. “Leave her and I shall obey.”

“A shame,” the King whispered and let go of her. “Well, it is good that you saw the error of your ways, my foolish boy.”

“Indeed,” Rhaegar confirmed quietly. “I saw the error of my ways.”

Rhaella exhaled deeply and lifted her gaze and laid eyes on her son. He looked defeated and beaten while the King rejoiced over his victory.

“The wedding shall be held in a year from now…after you return from the North, but do not make the mistake to defy me again. To keep you loyal I shall send Prince Lewyn with you. Leave today. I do not want to see your face anylonger.”

…


	3. A Dragon in Winter

**Lyanna**

Lyanna felt the urge to curse Old Nan after stepping out of the wooden basin. She felt as if someone had rubbed off her skin, so raw and red it looked. It wasn’t like Lyanna held any dislike for baths, but she preferred the scalding water of the hotsprings to her nursemaid’s rough hands.

“I think I have no skin left, Old Nan,” Lyanna complained after she had pulled her underskirt over her head. “The Prince will think Lord Bolton laid hand on me.”

He childish comment was promptly punished with a playful slap on her shoulder.

“Do not invoke the name Bolton in these halls,” Old Nan chided her and pulled on her long hair, causing her to stumble backwards. “That brings bad luck, silly girl. Now let me take care of your stubborn hair. Can’t have you running about like a Wildling.”

Lyanna hissed in pain as Old Nan continued to pull on her hair, forcing her to sit down before the shining looking-glass that had once belonged to her Lady Mother.

With quick movements she braided Lyanna’s hair into complicated knots. Once she was done she helped Lyanna put on her dress. It had been one of her mother finer dresses, made of fine wool, a chemise of Myrish silk and blue trimmings around the neck and the billowing sleeves. The dress hadn’t fitted her, but Old Nan and two other girls had worked day and night to shorten it to her size. Now it fitted almost perfectly, though Lyanna felt the chemise was meant for someone with more bosom, something she sorely lacked.

Old Nan seemed satisfied and placed two  silver earrings into her ears, before handing them a grey cloak trimmed with grey fur.

“Now you look almost like a proper lady,” Old Nan complimented in a teasing tone as Lyanna took regarded herself in the looking-glass.

She couldn’t help but to gasp at the sight of her changed appearance. It felt as if her mother had returned from her grave and was now smiling back at her.

The thought alone was enough to bring tears to her eyes and earned her another chiding from Old Nan.

“No tears, child. Or you might frighten the Prince away before he has even sat down at your father’s table.”

Lyanna wrinkled her nose at the mention of the Prince. The announcement of his arrival had turned their lives upside down and had made her father even more obsessed with her “southron education”. She had been so burdened with her lessons and dressmaking that she had barely been able to train with Benjen. If it continued like this she would unlearn everything she had achieved. It was a shame.

 _The dragons never gave a flying fuck about the North_ , Lyanna thought in annoyance and fastened her silver clasp wrought in the form of a direwolf. _Why is the Prince coming here?_

 _Mayhaps he wants to marry you,_  Benjen had teased her and had earned himself a slap over the head.

Lyanna had always known that she would have to marry, but the talks of a betrothal with Lord Robert Baratheon had been enough arouse her displeasure. No, she had no need of another suitor, though she doubted a spoiled and proper prince from the south would care about a wild girl like her.

 _Besides, the rumors say that he is going to wed the Dornish Princess_ , Lyanna assured herself and placed a last kiss on Old Nan’s cheek, before slipping out of her chambers and rushing down the swirling steps.

She passed the guards and a moment later she felt the icy wind touching her face.

Her father looked pleased when he laid eyes on her changed appearance, a seldom smile playing on his thin lips. He looked almost proud, though Lyanna was not sure. His long serious face rarely betrayed his true thoughts.

“You look proper,” her father declared and pointed at the place at his side. “You look very much like your mother.”

For Lyanna that was the only compliment she could expect, but these thoughts were soon forgotten when she noticed Benjen’s amused smile.

“You really look like a girl,” Benjen whispered into her ear and pulled on her arm. Lyanna paid him back by elbowing him.

He gasped in pain and opened his mouth to complain, but their Lord Father’s sharp gaze silenced him.

Lyanna grew also silent and moved closer to stand next to her father. He had sported an ill-mood ever since the Prince’s raven had arrived.

That Brandon had yet to arrive  had only increased his displeasure.

Lyanna and her father rarely saw eye to eye, but in this matter she couldn’t help but to feel for her father. Brandon ought to be here standing at his side. He was after the heir to Winterfell, though he often acted as if he was not.

 _Fool_ , she thought and graced her father with a smile.

“Brandon will arrive soon. I know it,” she assured him, but his already serious expression only darkened when the Prince’s riders poured into the courtyard in colors of crimson and black.

Beholding this spectacle Lyanna completely forgot about Brandon, her eyes taking in the marvelous horses and the beautiful armour of these southron knights.

Lyanna counted at least fifty guardsmen, all of them garbed in black cloaks. They all looked the same, safe for the white cloaked-man garbed in polished pate armor.

His horse was even more marvelous to behold. It was a grey stead from Dorne. Lyanna eyed it enviously. She would kill to have such a fine horse, though she doubted it would fare well in the icy north.

“That must be Ser Arthur Dayne!” Benjen whispered excitedly and pulled on her cloak. “The Sword of the Morning!”

Lyanna doubted that was the case. Ser Arthur Dayne was supposed to be a young man, but this man’s dark beard showed grey spots, though his sun-kissed skin made her believe that he hailed from a place in the south.

“We heard you,” she whispered and waved his hand at her brother. “Now be silent.”

Benjen chuckled.

“Says my unruly sister…,” Benjen began, but was cut off by the presence of another person parting from the column of riders.

This man was seated on a black destrier, a pelted cloak wrapped around his shoulders. By the way everyone was deferring to him he must be the prince, but Lyanna couldn’t make out his face, because it was concealed by a red shawl and hood.

 _Poor prince,_  Lyanna mused.  _The cold is merciless to those not hailing from the North. You better go home where you came from._

Lyanna still watched with great curiosity as he climbed from his horse. He was a tall man, so much she could see, but his face was only visibly after he had lowered the hood of his cloak.

The sight made her gasp in surprise.

The Prince was indeed tall, but even more pleasant was his finely- shaped face, framed by neatly-cut silver hair that spilled over his shoulders like a stream of moonlight. His eyes were even stranger to behold, a mixture of black and purple hues.

Truly, the Prince of Dragonstone looked like an exotic animal. Like a white rabbit or perhaps a snow bear.

“Your Grace…,” her Lord Father greeted and was about to fall to his knees, but the Prince’s nod stopped him mid-way.

“I am not the King,” the Prince said. “A bow should suffice, though it is me who should thank you for welcoming me so kindly, Lord Stark.”

“It was no bother,” her Lord Father assured the Prince stiffly and lowered his head in reverence. “Your visit here honors us, your grace.”

“I am also honored to be here,” the Prince replied and returned the gesture, a frozen smile playing on his lips as his eyes flickered to her and Benjen.

Benjen started to fidget and Lyanna felt her cheeks burn, though she doubted it was a sudden reaction to the cold. It had been the Prince’s frozen smile that had woken these feelings.

 _He has a petty smile_ , she thought as her Lord Father turned around to introduce them.

“May I introduce my children…Lady Lyanna Stark and my youngest son Benjen. My son Brandon has yet to join us and my other son Eddard resides in the Vale as Lord Arryn’s ward.”

“So I have heard,” the Prince confirmed and shifted his attention to Lyanna.

“It is great pleasure to meet you, my Lady,” the Prince declared and brought her hand to his lips. His kiss lastened no longer than a heartbeat, but his smile grew only wider when he noticed her direwolf clasp holding her cloak together.

“A wolf. Very fitting,” he complimented and pointed at his claps wrought in the form of a three-headed dragon. It was a pretty clasp, the eyes of the dragons made from small rubies. “I am also fond of mystical creatures.”

“Direwolves are not mystical creatures, your grace,” she couldn’t help but to correct him, though she tried to sound as polite as possible. “Unlike dragons you can still find direwolves beyond the Wall.”

Her Lord Father’s face darkened at her comment and he was about to open his mouth, but the Prince silenced him with another one of his frozen smiles.

“I do not mind,” the Prince said and shifted his attention back to Lyanna. “Lady Lyanna only tried to close my gap of knowledge, didn’t you, my lady?”

Lyanna was taken back by his words, but managed to stutter a reply.

“Aye, that was my intention.”

Again the Prince smiled and her heart skipped a beat.

“Wonderful,” he replied and turned to Benjen.

“Forgive me, for ignoring you, my young lord,” the Prince added almost cheerfully. “Benjen…Isn’t it?”

Benjen beamed from one ear to the other, though Lyanna was sure he was far more interested in the Prince’s Kingsguard companion.

“Indeed, your grace…” Benjen confirmed and nodded his head eagerly, but their father was quick to curb her brother’s enthusiasm.

“You must be famished, your grace,” her father remarked hesitatingly. “We have small feast prepared.”

The Prince nodded his head in acceptance as he met her father’s gaze.

“I am honored to sit at your table, my lord.”

The feast was indeed rather small affair. Two days ago his father had sent out riders to hunt and they had brought a stag and a good dozen of hares. Said stag was now being roasted over an open fire and had been stuffed with all kinds of delicacies.

Not all of her father's bannermen had been able to make it to the feast, only the most prominent came. There was Lord Karstark with his oldest son. The Greatjon Umber and his two Uncles who had brought plenty of rations from their storehouses. Even the sinister Lord Bolton had crawled from his lore and was accompanied by his wife. Lord Manderly hadn't been able to make it as his heavy weight prevented him from travelling large distances in, but he had sent his son and wife, who sponsored a minstrel.

Lyanna eyed the man with the harp eagerly, for it had been years that she  had last seen a minstrel in their halls. Her mother had been very fond of music and had always made sure that there was a minstrel residing in Winterfell if there was a wedding or a nameday to be celebrated. Her mother had played the high harp herself and had tried her best to teach Lyanna, though she had passed away before she could have made any substantial progress. Thinking of her mother saddened her and thus she shifted her attention to the Prince, who was seated between her Lord Father and Benjen.

He was a stranger in these halls, but he seemed completely at ease as he exchanged pleasantries with her Lord and Benjen.

Sometimes, he even smiled. It was easy to see that the he was not a man prone to smiles.

 _He is a bit like Ned_ , Lyanna realized and watched as he took a sip from his cup. He winced, like many do when they first taste the bitter ale from White Harbour, but she had to give him credit for swallowing it whole.

It was her Lord Father who seemed incredibly tense as he spoke to the Prince. He looked as if he was balancing over a lake of thin ice fearing it might break any moment.

"Lyanna," her Lord Father called out to her and made her turned around. "I am sure the Prince would be pleased to share a dance with the Lady of Winterfell?"

The Lady of Winterfell. It sounded so wrong. This title belonged to her Lady Mother, though Lyanna appreciated that her father honored her mother so much that he had refrained from marrying again.

She wanted to refuse, but not because she held any dislike for the Prince. No, the truth of it was...she was a failure at the dance floor, though old Nan had tried her best to teach her everything she needed to know.

 _This will end in a horrible embarrassment_ , she thought as she rose to her feet and forced a smile over her lips.

"I would be pleased to share a dance with the Prince," she remarked politely. "I mean...I would be more than honored to dance with you, your grace."

It the Prince was insulted by her stuttered words it didn't show on his face.

Instead he rose to his feet and offered his hand.

"I would be pleased to dance with you, my lady."

Lyanna's heart was threatening to jump out of her chest when the music started to play. The tune was familiar, but she was more focused on moving her legs and ignoring the fact that she had this Princeling's hands resting only a few inches above her waist.

It took a moment, but she somehow managed to find the right order of steps without stepping on the Prince's polished boots.

"Careful, my Lady," the Prince remarked after she had barely missed his foot. "I think we should slow down."

Lyanna's cheeks burned with embarrassment and this time she forgot the wrong order and stepped right on the Prince's foot.

Not much to her surprise, the Prince started to laugh.

"Do not fret. I am not hurt, my lady," he assured her and earned himself a frown.

He had reason to laugh at her, but it still angered her and stirred her loose mouth.

"I would hope so. I would be a sad thing if the future King was felled by a Lady's wrong step."

Her Lord father would have admonished her for her sharp words, but the Prince simply stared at her in stunned silence, before breaking out in laughter.

"Indeed," he agreed once he had regained his composure and led her through the next steps. "It would be a sad thing if that were to happen, my lady."

Then, he dipped his head.

"I must apologize for my laughter. I didn't mean to insult you. I can see that you are not enjoying dancing. Am I right, my Lady?"

"Aye," Lyanna admitted and felt all tension leave her body.  _Mayhaps he isn't as bad as I thought_ , Lyanna thought and tried her best to follow the sound of the music. "I like music...dancing not so much. It makes no sense to me."

"I see," the Prince said, his dark eyes piercing into hers. In the bright candlelight they had changed to a purple color, like the northern sky before sunset. It was a beautiful sight. "What makes sense to you, my lady? What are your true passions?"

"Horsemanship," she replied without hesitation. "I love riding. I owe a fine destrier. His name is  _Stormchaser_. He is fast and wild. He can even outrace my brother's horse."

The Prince nodded his head, a hint of curiosity shining in his dark eyes.

"Lord Benjen?"

Lyanna couldn't help but to chuckle. Benjen was a better archer than her and knew more about sword fighting, but he could never outrace her.

"No, I was referring to my oldest brother Brandon. You will meet him soon...that is if you are planning to stay that long. It will probably take another week before he makes it here, your grace."

"I shall be pleased to wait for his return," the Prince explained. "Because I will have need of his help. I intend to travel to the Wall and I had hoped your brother would be prepared to be my travelling companion. I doubt your Lord Father will be able to leave Winterfell."

Lyanna froze  when she heard about the Prince's plans. Brandon and her Lord Father had planned to travel to Riverrun to meet with Lord Hoster Tully. She doubted he had any intention to delay his plans in favor of the Prince.

 _That must be the reason father was so upset_ , Lyanna thought, but managed to smile. "We shall be pleased to have you here in Winterfell. I hope you won't mind the cold, your grace."

The Prince shook his head, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"I am a dragon, my lady. Dragons are fire made flesh. They don't fear the cold."

 _Nothing burns like the cold_ , she wanted to return, but kept these thoughts to herself.

"Did I say something amusing, my lady?" the Prince asked and searched her face. "You are smiling."

She couldn't help but to return his smile. It warmed her from the inside out.

"Forgive me, your grace. It is just...a dragon is a rare sight in the North."

...


	4. The Wild Wolf

**Brandon**

Brandon watched with a satisfied smile as Barbrey washed her delicious long legs.

It had first met her when he had arrived in Barrowtown to be fostered in Lord Ryswell's household. Back then she had made the impression of a shy and proper lady, but only a week later he had come about her and her elder sister, both seated atop marvelous horses. The older one had been a quiet thing that had lacked Barbrey’s full figure and was now wed to Lord Roose Bolton, the Lord of the Dreadfort.

Lady Barbrey had been different. She had enchanted him with her sharp smiles and her skills in horsemanship. Ever since, that day they had been racing up and down the Rills.

And while Lady Barbrey was certainly not the most beautiful woman he had ever courted, there was something about her character that made her very alluring, though it had especially been her large breasts, full hips and long legs that had stirred his manhood.

Brandon had seduced countless girls, but in this case it had been Lady Barbrey who had lured him into her bed. It had barely taken a moon, before she had wrapped these delicious legs around him in the nearby forest.

That she had been a maid had surprised. Brandon had bedded maids and whores a like, but no maid had ever be so willing and experienced. Most wept or squeaked, but Lady Barbrey had done none of this. Instead she had simply wiped away the blood, had stirred his manhood back to life and had allowed Brandon to take her two more times.

Ever since that, day they had been meeting regularly, tumbling in the stables or meeting in the distant forest where the Lord Ryswell liked to hunt. Once he had even slipped into her chambers, his hand stifling her moans as they fucked.

They had been lucky that nobody had heard them, though Brandon had always been careful not to spill inside her since their first encounter. Brandon prided himself on his prowess, but his Lord Father would be very displeased if he fathered a bastard now that the betrothal with Lady Catelyn Tully was secured.

Brandon had been angered when he had heard about his father’s plans and was still displeased about the match, though his father had explained his reasons numerous times.

_It is the corn he wants, not the girl. She is nothing but a goat to be traded. Like myself._

That she was supposedly very pretty had helped to ease Brandon’s displeasure, but he couldn’t bring himself to trust the single painting he had seen of his betrothed.

_Well, I will meet her soon. Then, we will see if she is as pretty as they say. At least then it won’t be a pain to put children into her belly._

Yet despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to resist Lady Barbrey. Mayhaps it was the fact that he had taken her maidenhead, but all thoughts of Catelyn Tully disappeared whenever he buried his cock between Lady Barbrey’s soft thighs.

 _Could it be that you are in love, dear brother_ , Lyanna had asked him in a teasing tone after she had noticed the hidden smiles between him and Lady Barbrey during their last visit at Winterfell.

Brandon had scoffed at her remark. Love was not something he had known since his mother died.

No, his little sister was deluding herself. And how could he blame her? She was a young girl who was dreaming of a different future, but soon their father would settle her with a proper lord and all her pretty dreams about knighthood would be shattered to pieces.

Thus, he found himself back in Lady Barbrey’s chamber.

He had barely lasted until supper before he had slipped into her chambers and had fucked her roughly, her muffled sounds stifled by his hand. She had even bitten him, the red marks still evident on the palm of his hand. Not long after, he had taken her from behind. Most girls disliked this way of fucking, but not Barbrey. She had been eager as ever.

"You were too loud," Brandon teased as she climbed back into bed. She smiled at him and brushed her shiny brown hair over her shoulder. The gesture alone was enough to harden his cock, though he was still exhausted by their previous tumble. "I think you are in need of punishment."

She chuckled and crawled back into his arms. "If you think so, my lord. I will accept any punishment you deem necessary."

Brandon didn't need any further invitation. He slapped her hard on the backside and made her giggle.

"Will you obey?" He asked teasingly.

"Of  course," Barbrey replied and leaned in to kiss him, her hand touch his cock. "I shall do whatever you like."

Brandon was sure of that, but he had lingered long enough.

"I would love that, but I need to go. My father expects me in Winterfell. The Targaryen Prince announced his visit. Going by my father's letter he is quite wroth."

Disappointment was written all over Lady Barbrey's sharp face. "Shouldn’t he feel honored? When was the last time a Targaryen Prince visited Winterfell?"

Brandon grinned at her and patted her head as if she was a silly little girl.

"Do not fret about the Princeling, my lady. He will receive all the honor he deserves. Well, I will be late anyway, but it was worth it."

“Was it?” she asked with a hint of sorrow, her brown eyes searching his. “I heard you are soon going to visit your betrothed…Lady Catelyn Tully.”

Brandon couldn’t help but to grin when he heard the anger in her voice.

“Are you jealous, my lady?” he asked and squeezed her full breast. “I heard she is quite pretty.”

“And a southron girl,” Barbrey countered and brushed his hand away. “Girls like her are too soft to live in the North. You should marry a proper Northern woman…someone who follows your gods.”

Brandon grinned. Her jealousy was both endearing and amusing.

“Could it be that you are jealous, my Lady?” he asked and touched her cheek. “Are you suggesting that I should marry _you_?”

His words must have taken her off guard, but her brown eyes grew wide and she chewed on her lips as she pondered her answer.

“Would that be so bad?” she asked almost softly and touched her stomach, a strange smile curling on her lips. “I already carry your son.”

Brandon felt as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over his head.

“You are lying,” he accused her. “I never spilled…,” he continued, but her sharp look silenced him at once.

“I am not lying. It happened on the night we were celebrating Roderik’s nameday. You were terribly drunk that night.”

It felt like a slap to the face and he realized that it was true, his blurred memories flooding back into his mind.

“Why did you not take moon tea?” he demanded to know and grabbed her arm. “Did you do it on purpose so I would marry you?”

“I was also drunk,” she defended herself and tried to free her hand from his tight grip. “I forgot…it was a mistake. Now let me go…you are hurting me.”

Brandon immediately let go of her hand and searched her face.

“There is still time…you can still get rid of it,” he insisted, but Barbrey’s angry expression told him that this was another lost cause.

“I am not going to kill _our_ son!” she countered and touched her stomach. “How could you even demand something so vicious from me?”

“He cannot be my son,” Brandon insisted, though he refrained from using force. Instead he lifted her from his lap and rose to his feet, searching for his discarded clothing. “He can only be my bastard. My father would disinherit me and send me to the Wall.”

“You do not even want to try, do you?” Barbrey asked him after he had put on his breeches and was about to pull on his tunic. “You are no man, but a bloody coward.”

Brandon knew he should have ignored her pleas, but her rude words had wounded his pride.

“I am not a coward!” he couldn’t help but to snap at her and started to fasten his boots. “But I do know my father. He is not the kind of man who accepts disobedience. I do not wish to rot at the Wall.”

Then, he gave her one last smile.

“Farewell, my lady.”

…


End file.
